You look out from behind the maple that you were hiding behind, your blue eyes landing on him as he lay in the clearing. The autumn leaves were cascading all about him, covering his male form like a light quilt of golds and browns and reds and oranges that in spite of the randomness in which they fell was arranged with a dry, crinkled pattern that only enhances the hazel of his eyes and the warm tones in his hair. You feel the tenderness engulf your tired heart like a warm bath, his aura like steam opening your pores, his soul supporting you through all the worries you endure everyday. Smiling wistfully as he let out a long yearning sigh, you wonder if this is how you make him feel when he’s near.

He says your name and you realize that he’s holding out his arms to you. The leaves try to cling to his hakama and robe as he sits up and even though you’re so far away from him you can feel the radiant heat of his heart. It warms you though the day and your body are chilly and you’re standing partially behind the maple tree, leaning on it for fear that your normally resilient legs will give way, holding onto its sturdy trunk because it feels as though he’s melting you into a sighing mass of female goo, hiding behind its mass because you don’t really feel like going to him yet. The paradise you stand on the edge of doesn’t deserve to be sullied by your conflicts; they’re still close to the surface and very close to bubbling over and the look he’s giving you is so open and so understanding. It all is too much to bear.

You lick your dry lips before sitting at the tree’s roots, touching the go-en around your neck remembering when he sent it to you so long ago. It had changed your luck, that little coin, mostly because it reminded you that even though you had spent so much time apart from him, he still kept you in a special place in his heart. He had sent it before you could try suicide once again with a note that carried his scent and his aura like talismans that were meant to be worn with the coin. The note said simply:

‘Wear this close to your heart. It symbolizes how my love will drive away any misfortune that may befall you from here on out. It symbolizes how even though you are out of my sight, you are not out of my mind. Wear it always, as I always carry your handkerchief on my person, always close to my own heart. I want to be your fortune and your strength as you are for me. I want to be your reason to live if at anytime you feel you have none. Wear it and don’t forget me, because I haven’t forgotten you.’

You had memorized the note; the ink had become smudged with your tears as the words shattered your resolve. You’ve never taken the go-en off of you since it came, not even all the times you’ve had to replace the cord that kept it at your breast. Even now you bring it to your lips as if in prayer, for he is your saviour. He had brought your head out of the water when you were drowning, he had carried you out of the fire that had burned you and choked you with its fumes, he had applied pressure to the knife wound you received and called for help, his had been the face that swam before your eyes so you could detach yourself from the violations and beatings, he had been the man you thought of as a lifeline you were dying from childbirth, he had carried you over the rooftops to a medical centre when you had been poisoned during his first visit, his memory called you back from the light when you had attempted suicide the first time. His name and the appropriate dates were engraved into the seven tiny, looped earrings you wore in your left ear. They are a reminder of how much you owe him.

He says your name again, only his voice is in your ear and his warm breath condensing on the skin of your neck. It startles you from your thoughts and you drop the coin back on your chest, feeling only slightly foolish for losing yourself in the past so easily. He regards those who live in the past as fools. Jokingly, he’ll refer to you as ‘his fool,’ sweetly and with an adoring kiss to your forehead. It doesn’t even occur to you that other people think him condescending when he calls you that, because you know what he means. You understand him and that’s all that really matters.

My lovely fool, he says, kissing the crook of your jaw.

You gasp as the mere touch of the delicate skin of his lips chase away everything except the here and now. Your name becomes lost as you drown in the scent that’s so uniquely him; the scents of black pepper, sea salt, lye, and wet grass. You can only grasp the feel of his name on your lips, but it doesn’t matter because when it’s just you and him you don’t need names and you don’t need to dwell on old memories to think fondly of one another. Every moment is a moment of discovery, a second of satisfaction, a minute of clarity and why do names matter?

Giving you his trademark lazy smile, he collapses unto your legs, preventing any escape... not that it had even crossed your mind. It’s quite hard for you to entertain such ideas when you’re watching the dappled sunlight play along the exposed skin of his chest. Underneath your kosode your bindings are constricting as the pleasant thought of the skin of your bare chests touching worms your way into your mind. Why is he allowed to affect you like this? Why is he allowed to lay there without a care while you are trying very hard not to come off too strong?

Uh, you stutter. The words catch in your throat as his eyes clear and a blush rises to his cheeks and a bashful smile tugs at his lips. It’s when his thumb comes up to stroke your lower lip that you realize that he was daydreaming about you.

I love you, he whispers almost reverently. It almost feels like he’s saying it for the first time. That can’t be true because he says it every morning and every night. He says it after every sentence. The words engulf you with every touch, every kiss, every time you move against each other in the night.

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you...

It hits you that this is the first time he’s actually vocalized it and that he’s staring at you as though injured by your silence and your somewhat slack jaw. You blink, catch his hand as it falls and bring it back to your mouth. You’re probably scaring him with your grip and the tears that are falling like rain from your eyes, but you can’t help it. Joy and fear are welling up in your heart and overflowing in your eyes and the words, those same three words, are stuck in a trap inside your vocal cords so you can’t say them back to him. So all you can do is smile through your tears and kiss every bare inch of skin you can reach just to convey that you feel the same.

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, oh gods above I love you so, but I’m so scared...

You feel both of your hearts fluttering against your ribs like caged birds. The terror loosens at the thought that he’s as scared as you are and both net and cage are weakening. You open your mouth and the bird inside your chest breaks through the cage and tears through the net and soars into the air like an eagle with a keening cry to match.

I love you, you say as if it were the easiest thing. It is! It is the easiest thing to say even though you’ve never uttered those words together before! It is!

For a long while that’s the only thing you vocalize to each other as you pass touches and kisses back and forth. It feels as if your bodies were melding, as if your minds were synchronizing, as if your souls, blue and amber, were swirling together to make a larger and more complete essence. He holds the handkerchief you gave him, you hold the go-en he gave you and lying side by side under the darkening sky, saying it now and then. You share a smile when you say it at the same time with him. It is a wonderful thing to say and you never tire of saying it. Even after her dozes off, you hold him close and whisper it into his ear.

It’s not long before you follow him to sleep and it catches you mid-phrase and let’s it echo.

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.

I love...